


BREAKING POINT

by vanhunks



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: Kathryn Janeway, bogged down by years of demanding command decisions, many of which have invoked controversy and resentment, has reached the breaking point. She feels alienated, lonely, unloved. She leaves Voyager, orders Chakotay to lead the crew home and seeks seclusion with a highly spiritual alien race.Set somewhere mid-season 7.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written around 1999 and posted to ASC and JetC16 in 2000. It was un-edited, full of extreme mush, could have used a good brushing through but that never happened. As one of the few novellas not posted to AO3, I felt I couldn't post it in its original format and content. There is no NC-17 [M -E rating] but closer to R, as one of the changes I've brought in.
> 
> Also, this is a revamped story, edited, new parts written, old parts cleaned up and BETAREAD by my editer Mary Stark. My message to those readers who have read the old story, treat this like a brand new one! :) 
> 
> Story will be posted in parts. Please read and enjoy! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Paramount is the proud owner of Voyager, Janeway, Chakotay, Paris and Torres, other regular characters. It owns the Delta Flyer, Sandrine's, Romulan Ale.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

They had arrived on the planet Brenar thousands of years ago. In physical form, they resembled giant black locust-like creatures with humanoid heads and arms that extended into three elongated fingers on each hand. They could balance on what appeared to be hind legs like those of horses, yet give the appearance of a crude bipedal species. They had two sets of wings, the lower pair very large and transparent.

They were first seen as a swarm swooping from the sky. According to legend, they landed on the outskirts of a small isolated village in the southern hemisphere close to its polar region and adopted the forms of those Brenarian villagers, for these creatures possessed the ability to change shape. They communicated through a system of clicking sounds. As they absorbed the customs and rituals of the Brenarians, they learned the language of the villagers. In time, the visitors could not be distinguished from those who had been born there 

No one knew where these new colonists had come from.

Gradually the numbers in the villages began to drop, arousing no suspicion at first. Later the population shrank more alarmingly and the governments of the planet began to speculate about the reasons for the decline of their inhabitants. But as thousands of years passed, the planet experienced renewed and enjoyed a steady increase in their numbers. Death and birth were seen as necessary to the circle of life so that once again order was restored and no one noticed that many deaths remained unexplained. Some Brenarians disappeared mysteriously, never to be heard of again. Stories of great flying creatures landing on the southern continent became legends lost in the mists of Brenar's history.

In time, they had forgotten about the race of locust-like creatures that had settled in a small village far away from the eyes of the rest of the planet's population. In the annals of Brenar's past, there were no records of these aliens who had visited their world or whether their sojourn on Brenar had been brief.

Peace settled on Brenar where the inhabitants continued to live a very spiritual existence.

************

END PROLOGUE

 

CHAPTER 1

The temple, built a thousand years ago using the planet's natural dark brown sandstone, was large and draughty. A throng of people swayed in the pews and along the aisles, their eyes curious, their faces rapt, oblivious of the stark beauty of the church, unmoved perhaps by frequent visits to the place of worship.

The walls were decorated with panels depicting events of the temple's ecclesiastical history, intricately sculpted in bas relief. Image upon image of Brenarians in priestly attire, with long flowing hair, performing various rituals, even of young children in what could be described as sacramental induction.

Torches fixed over each panel were dim, illuminating the hall in a soft, gold-orange glow, and the figures, silent for a thousand years, appeared to move as the weak flames flickered. 

Near the Sacrificium very tall figures moved about gracefully, their silhouettes throwing long shadows that appeared to follow and mimic their masters' shapes. They were lissom, their long robes flowing close to their bony bodies, hugging each jutting outline and accentuating their extreme emaciation. Their faces, sickly pale, deepened as the light from the torches threw them into relief with every movement they made.

The Sacrificium was separated from the rest of the temple by wide, shallow steps, anchored by tall columns that extended all across and along the sides. The stairs led to an altar upon which burned candles in ornate golden candelabras. The light enhanced the ghost-like movements of the ecclesiastics. But for their soft footfalls there were no other sounds in the Sacrificium.

Along the bottom stair, twenty figures stood side by side, their eyes downcast. They dared not look upon the ecclesiastics or the altar as they prepared for the ritual that would soon follow - an induction ceremony.

The ecclesiastics - three males and one female - wore long flowing grey robes, the edges along the hems and sleeves bearing blue and gold designs, much like the togas worn by the ancient Greeks. Still, the lush attire did very little to hide their extreme bony thinness. A feature of the Brenarian species was their hair, a dull grey, hanging down to the small of their backs. These priests lived in seclusion. Their sheltered lifestyle of asceticism, continuous meditation, very little food and lack of contact with the outside world made acceptance into the order desired by only the most zealous of Brenar's citizens. 

The twenty initiates waited for the induction to begin. Only one appeared different from the rest. She was much smaller than the others and very slender. Her skin was alabaster, creamy, and her reddish-brown hair fell over her shoulders, in stark contrast to her fellow initiates. There was a certain serenity about this woman in the way she stood quite still, the way her face lifted when she heard a sound coming from the altar. She was surrounded by an aura of peace so profound that to have touched her, even gently, would have been an invasion.

She wore a flowing white gown, the hems and sleeves patterned with green hoops. It was tied at the waist with a gilt cord, intricately knotted at the side, its tassels dropping to below her knees. She wore no other adornments.

At a signal from one of the senior calders or high priests, a soft humming began to fill the temple. Words were indistinct, in the ancient language of Brenar, yet low and melodious. Then the female high priestess nodded in the direction of the small woman who stood at the right.  She stepped forward two paces which brought her up to the first step of the Sacrificium. Two priests floated from the altar and reached the woman who seemed dwarfed by her fellow inductees. The priests flanked her and then the three of them walked slowly up the stairs until they stood directly in front of the magnificent altar.

Now the chanting from the audience became an invocation that rose up, as if it suddenly changed to a  different direction. Yet the chanting, at first deceptively without harmony, weaved into a melody which sounded ancient, much like the medieval Gregorian chants of Earth. Could these songs, sung by the entire congregation have survived from the ancients of Brenar history, passed down from the beginning of their existence? This idea floated on the periphery of the consciousness of the first inductee as she awaited the next instruction.

To the audience she struck a lonely figure the moment the two high priests stepped away from her. Then the chief, identified by the heavy brocade mantle he wore over his robe, began to speak. The woman understood his words, for pinned on her robe was a badge, her universal translator.

"Kathryn Janeway of the United Federation of Planets, your request has been granted," the Chief High Priest spoke. "You have successfully undergone the _novitar_ which has prepared you for the next step. You are now a worthy member of our ancient guild of calders. Your new designation is _Bren Darya_."  The Chief raised his bony hand, his fingers gnarled, and made a sign above Bren Darya's head.

As Bren Darya bowed, the Chief turned to the altar, his hands together in supplication, his lips moving wordlessly. He removed something from the altar, and when he faced her again he held an amulet on a long gold chain and placed it gently around Darya's neck. She met his gaze, bowed once more and returned to her original position. Thus the ceremony continued until all were inducted. The chant, which had lowered while the inductees received their new designations, rose again, hallowed music that reached the ribbed vaults of the temple.

The new calders filed quietly through an exit to the right of the wide stair, marching slowly to the annex that led to the living quarters of the initiates. Bren Darya's face appeared serene, instilled with the promise of new things, strange and calm and restful. The tall hooded man who stood with his hands inside the folds of the wide sleeves of his garment, couldn't but notice that the new calder seemed lonely and isolated. His initial awe at being inside the temple which reminded him of the great cathedrals of Earth was overshadowed by what he saw as raw loneliness in her. It struck at his heart to see the captain of Voyager more isolated than he had ever seen her before.

Alone in her Spartan room, Bren Darya sagged on her bed. A deep sigh escaped her as she fingered the embossed image on her new amulet, a representation of a spoon-shaped starship.

Voyager. It was her vessel from the start, flung by force into the darkest unknown of the Delta Quadrant. On it and for it, she fought tooth and nail to preserve her ship, her people, to control with a determination forged in her deepest heart, a power she had never known she possessed. The ship challenged her, became her sword, her armour, her cloak with which she battled her foes.

_"You are your own worst enemy…"_

Behind her eyelids a stabbing pain as she pictured Chakotay, on the countless times he cautioned her, restrained her from plunging headlong into danger.

And always, " _I need to get my people home…"_

That had become her cross, her magnificent obsession turned burden, increasingly unbearable as each crisis passed, each one scraping yet another layer of humanity from her. In the end she was stripped, raw and in pain, left with nothing more to fight.

And always, his face, his words, his eyes, the concern she thought was censure.

A flash, a scene of a bygone day when it stormed, when she relinquished her burdens and he shouldered them, when it had become possible to believe that despair could turn to hope. A bygone night, after the storm when all her senses were triggered as she inhaled him, let his touch scorch her, his voice calm her, skin that tingled, skin upon skin…

She closed her eyes, willing away those images, unable to prevent a tear rolling down her cheek and spilling hotly on her hand. She breathed in deeply, allowing the echoes of the chanting in the temple to calm her. Clutching the amulet against her bosom, peace suffused her slowly, her body beginning to relax, a layer returned. Her hands rested on her lap, her face serene in the stillness around her.

Gone were all her old concerns, the duties and burdens of her command, nights of terror when breathing brought pain, when the prospect of waking up and facing another day filled with decisions that tore her humanity from her undermined what little strength she had left. So much restlessness, so much anger, bitterness, regrets, guilt.

Gone her past life.

_At last, at last I can get on with my new life._

***************

END CHAPTER 1

 TBC


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Chakotay, Tuvok and Tom Paris stood in the great room of the Ambassador's suite, waiting for the leader to make his appearance. They studied the adornments on the walls, large paintings depicting scenes of the planet's cultural history. There was little that reflected war or battles as Brenarians were a peace-loving race.  Furnishing was similar to other homeworlds they had visited over the years and it always impressed them how each planet dealt with their histories the same way Earth, Vulcan, Kronos, even Risa, the pleasure planet, had. On Dorvan, medicine wheels and other cultural ornamentations also filled practically every home.

As always, they had been struck by the way various species found outlets for expressing their creative energies, be they ancient paintings on the walls of caves such as in Earth's great caves or eternalising a period of rebirth such as Earth's Renaissance. With the crudest implements they carved or painted the way they'd experienced the world around them. They gave the visitor an idea about a time in history that would have vanished from all memory, recording for perpetuity everyday life of ancient civilisations.

Chakotay had visited many of these caverns, cenotes, pyramids and catacombs during his academy days. Many times, he'd paused by a rock painting trying to divine the thoughts of the painter, whether the artist had any idea how his drawing of a bison or antelope or even a family construct could cast light on their way of life in a bygone era.

"Commander," Tuvok's voice sounded next to him, "I do not think these paintings and carvings are older than a thousand years." Tuvok had taken readings from his scientific tricorder and gave what Tom thought was a frown.

"But we investigated the planet," Tom said, "and its civilisation goes back at least ten thousand years!"

"It's why I am concerned." Chakotay stood, hands on his hips, turning to study again the paintings on all four walls. "There is nothing here that suggests Brenarians have lived ten thousand years on this planet."

"Or perhaps they did, Chakotay," Tom suggested. "They're not showing us those ancient periods of their history."

"They may be hiding something, or it could be only this room," said Tuvok. "More about the history is probably at other venues. There are a number of museums of antiquity, I understand."

"Yes. I've already assigned Marcus Kiridis and Marla Gilmore to visit the museums," Chakotay replied.

He felt a little apprehensive. Usually homeworlds were quite effusive about their achievements, government and governance, cultural wealth. What they had learned was that Brenar was a highly spiritual society, more bent on concealing their legacy.

But that was not why the Voyager delegation was in the great room of the First Ambassador of Brenar. As beautiful and touching as the symbols on the walls were, they could not divert the officers from their task. Chakotay breathed in deeply, trying to suppress his growing fear.

Kathryn, Captain of Voyager.

The Ambassador had hailed them for an audience with him. Kathryn had been gone a week. Despite repeated entreaties to the government, they had heard nothing from her, until word got to them that she had gone into seclusion. He prayed it was just temporary, that soon she would return to Voyager feeling refreshed, ready to assume command again with as much energy as she had always done. He felt sick at the prospect that the Ambassador would bring them bad news. Other than the fact that they knew she was alive, they were completely in the dark about her intentions.

Tom Paris fidgeted. He was never a patient man and waiting for the Ambassador to grant them an interview was beginning to cause his neck hair to rise. Pretty soon he'd be scratching there, creating angry blotches, knowing B'Elanna would be mad as hell. She'd tell him he had dirt under his nails that caused the redness of his skin. He quickly checked his nails, assured that they were very clean, the temptation to scratch dissipating.

Next to him Tuvok didn't move a parsec, but Tom knew he was sizing up the situation. Tuvok also never failed to pour cold water on their expectations or be the voice of reason. 

"Commander," Tuvok's voice sounded again, "the captain might elect to remain here."

Thus spoke the voice of reason and cold water.

"That's hardly good news," Chakotay bit out. "We have a ship full of crew and officers waiting for her, who need her."

_I need her._

Why did she choose to stay on the planet? They were colleagues, friends, what he believed to be a superb command team, the best in the Federation. They had faced countless adversities together, beaten the enemy so many times and found solace in one another's company. "Are you with me?" she'd once asked him and his response had been a spontaneous, unequivocal "Always". And he'd been there for her in the deep of the night when Kathryn, unsettled by the day's events, would seek his company. "Come, let's walk the ship, Captain," he'd tell her. Then she'd hook her arm through his and they'd walk until the tension left her. It warmed him when they passed crewmen still on duty who would halt when they saw the command team and salute them.

Yes, with him she had sought refuge when her burdens had become heavy and unbearable, and he'd reassure her that he was there to help. And always she rallied enough to tackle the next task head-on, to continue their journey, supported by his promise to lighten her burden. He couldn't breathe without her next to him on the bridge, or just knowing she was somewhere walking the corridors of Voyager. It always subdued the agitation in him, comforted just that she was there.

Had he read her so wrong? Had he missed some signs, however veiled, that Kathryn was reaching a breaking point and harbouring the intention of going into seclusion? To leave Voyager, leave him?

Shaking his head to break his runaway thoughts, Chakotay straightened up as the Ambassador's with two of his associates entered the suite. They were tall, as were most Brenarians, their faces a kind of grey colour with long hair. The men appeared stern and implacable, Chakotay thought. His heart raced erratically. This wasn't good. Not good at all. Tom scraped his shoes on the floor and Tuvok gave a small cough as the men approached. The body language of the Ambassador and his ministers was enough to tell them their wait was all for nought. He thought he heard Paris whisper, "Damn, Commander…"

"Commander Chakotay, I am Bren Hadar," the Ambassador introduced himself in a booming voice.

************

How did we get to this? Chakotay asked himself as Voyager remained in high orbit over the planet Brenar, seventh planet of the Brenar star system. Why did Kathryn do it? Why did she sequester herself in the highly organised yet covert society of Brenar?

The Brenarians had welcomed Kathryn into their fold, left her practically without identity. Was that how far Kathryn was prepared to cut herself off from Voyager and all she held dear and familiar? Although unwilling to admit it to himself, deep down he sensed that Kathryn's indefatigable energy, her iron will and primary objective led her to make decisions without consultation. What discussion had taken place between captain and first officer invariably led to him agreeing with her viewpoints, even when he was convinced he was right. That was Kathryn. Always imagining she bore the burden of command alone, relegating everyone else to head-nodding and yea-saying of her decisions.

Sitting in the command chair, staring blindly at the main viewscreen, Chakotay remained tight-lipped. He fell into morbid recollection of their conversation in the Ambassador's office. The man had looked at them as though they were vermin and he couldn't understand the attitude as they knew of the spiritual lifestyle and peaceful existence of the Brenarians.

"Captain Janeway must return to her vessel," he told Bren Hadar, just barely containing his rising ire. "She is our leader, our commanding officer and is missed by her crew."

"The Captain of the starship Voyager has requested asylum,"  Bren  Hadar replied, his lips curling derisively. "We often encounter visitors such as yourself who fail to accept and understand that there are those among you who would seek solitude here."

"Asylum? Whatever for?" Tom shot the question. Tuvok merely raised an eyebrow that seemed to say that he'd been right about Kathryn remaining on Brenar.

"She has been granted sanctuary with the people of our world, Commander Chakotay,"  Bren Hadar said, not even looking at the other two, his eyes fixed on the commander. "She has gone into seclusion with the Holy Order of the Calders."

A cold chill slivered down his spine. Tuvok stiffened imperceptibly, raising his eyebrow. Tom Paris bristled with indignation as Bren Hadar looked him up and down with narrowed eyes. Chakotay imagined he saw Hadar blink, a nictitating membrane such as he'd seen on raptors and crocodiles. Something was wrong! But any thoughts of pursuing what he'd just seen was overshadowed by Tom nudging him in the side.

"We can't leave her here, Commander. We just can't!"

"I concur," Tuvok added, "and may I say, honoured Bren Hadar," looking at the First Ambassador, "I speak for our crew."

Bren Hadar looked at them as though they were pests, and Chakotay felt his blood boil at the arrogant way this tall rangy alien spoke to them. That was not the impression the bridge crew got a few days ago when formal greetings had taken place. Then the official welcoming committee had been nothing but cordial.

"Our decision is final," said Bren Hadar. "Captain Kathryn Janeway will remain with the Calders in their sanctuary. She has asked that you, Commander Chakotay, take command of the starship Voyager and guide the crew home. She believes the crew to be in capable hands."

"Ambassador, we will _not_ leave orbit without our Captain," Chakotay bit out, barely containing his anger, wondering if the conviction with which he said those heartfelt words got through to Hadar. They were on unfamiliar ground, negotiating for the release of their commanding officer, yet not all that unfamiliar, for how many times had they stood in great halls, temples, town squares or other warring vessels, bargaining until they were so exhausted all they wanted was to be back on Voyager and go home?

Bren Hadar was on home territory, and therefore had the advantage. While Brenar was a pre-warp world, they could still dictate the outcome of a negotiating session.

"Commander," Tuvok said, his eyes remaining inscrutable as he looked at Chakotay,  "perhaps we should return to Voyager, and leave Brenar space - "

"Not until I have spoken to her first!"

"She wishes to speak with no one from Voyager," Bren Hadar said imperiously.

"We don't know that, do we?" Tom asked, "until she tells us so in person."

"Ambassador, inform Captain Janeway that I wish to speak with her before we leave orbit," Chakotay said. If they informed her, his request could galvanise her into some way of giving him an audience. If. They had to convince her to return to Voyager, to convince her that her place was with her ship and her crew.

He stepped closer to Bren Hadar who stood a full thirty centimetres taller, almost touching the Brenarian. A bold move to show Hadar they weren't giving up, to intimidate the man into making some concession to them.

"You will tell Captain Janeway to grant us audience before we leave orbit. I believe I have made myself clear."

He was tempted to head-butt Bren Hadar and throw him off balance. He tempered his rage just enough that he could still threaten the Brenarian standing so close to him. Paris and Tuvok had also closed in on the Brenarian, determined to make their intention clear of seeing Janeway. Chakotay retreated a step, just enough that he could meet Hadar's gaze.

"Very well," Hadar relented. "I will inform _Bren Darya_ of your wishes, although I am certain she has made her decision -"

"Who?" Tom asked.

"Bren Darya. That is Captain Janeway's new designation."

Bren Hadar nodded imperceptibly, then with his two ministers, left the great hall, leaving the away team still gaping.

"Well, Commander, I think we should leave. We are certainly not welcome here, it seems," Tuvok said with his usual perspicacity.

"Hell, no!" Chakotay raged. "We will get her back. We can't leave her here! We'll fix whatever is troubling her that makes her want to stay and lose her soul. Say something, dammit!"

"We live to fight another day, Commander," Tuvok suggested, the twitching of his jaw the only sign that he was as disturbed as the other two.

"Let's go, Chakotay, before we are made even more unwelcome."

Tom gripped his elbow, urging him towards the exits but Chakotay kept glancing backwards to where Bren Hadar had vanished behind some door. It was a vague wish to see Kathryn standing there and running after them, telling them she would return with them.

"We cannot leave her here. I know why she wants to stay. I know..."

Those days when she entered his quarters unannounced, raw from the day's battles. She would sit next to him, the silence between them fraught with the warring emotions bouncing off of her. He remained by her side, quiet, waiting until she looked at him and her eyes were clear again. Then she would lean against him, her 'thank you' so soft he felt rather than heard her. He knew that even though he fought those battles right alongside her, even though he challenged whatever adversity bedevilled them that day, he was able to absorb those pressures better. He could go into deep meditation while Kathryn… Kathryn was a scientist through and through; meditation and spiritual needs were not things she sought as outlets for the stresses she endured. Had she reached the end of her tether? Why, when she had her crew to support her?

"Commander," Tuvok interrupted his train of thought, "we will remain in orbit until we have our Captain back."

He wanted to believe Tuvok, desperately wanted something to cling to whatever would keep his hopes up, that he not plunge into deep despair. Tuvok sounded assured, firm, resolved. They had never gotten along particularly well, but Kathryn Janeway was their captain, and they all wanted her back on Voyager. Once before, when they'd been trapped in the void, Tuvok pledged his support of Chakotay should they ever find themselves in situations such as their present dilemma demanded.

They were quiet when they boarded the Delta Flyer, immersed in their own thoughts and ruminations about Kathryn's decision. They left Brenar to break the news to the rest of the crew.

**************

"Right here," Sam Wildman said as she pointed her scientific tricorder to a small area covered with ice sheets.

"It is very cold here, Samantha Wildman," Icheb said, unable to prevent a shiver though both were dressed heavily for the arctic conditions of Brenar's south pole. "Is it the same on your homeworld Earth?"

"Exactly. Perhaps colder. Are you recording this?"

"Affirmative. One hundred metres below the surface. Multiple skeletal remains. DNA matches those of Brenarian physiology."

"There's something else, Icheb," Samantha observed, frowning as her tricorder flickered .

"Curious. I detect another species buried deep down. According to my readings, it is nine thousand seven hundred years old. DNA unlike any bipedal species."

"Nothing assimilated by the Borg?"

"Negative. But, Samantha, why would these two species lie fossilised together?"

"That is our mission, Icheb. It's why Commander Chakotay sent us here. I think he is a visionary, you know? He knew long before any of us that there must be a link between the Brenarian way of life and other species, that somehow Brenar's extreme deference to the Caulean Brotherhood must have been influenced millennia ago by alien creatures - "

"I understand, Samantha. What are our facts here? We have two distinct species, one the Brenar of this planet and another the alien beings that arrived here. There is no record of these creatures except that legends abound  - "

"Affirmative. Is there a possibility that we can transport bones of an alien creature to Voyager's sick bay?"

Icheb looked sharply at Samantha, his brows knitting together. "I think we can use our phasers and create a tunnel to the location of the fossils."

"Great, that would make transport easier."

They created a shaft about a metre wide, watching the melting ice give way to an ever-deepening tunnel. When they'd drilled to roughly a hundred metres down, Sam hit her commbadge.

"Sam Wildman to Doctor."

"Doctor here. What can I do for you, Ensign Wildman?"

Then Sam explained to the EMH exactly what they needed him to do. They remained on the surface  until they were satisfied that a full skeleton had been transported to Voyager. Then they arranged for their own transport. It was going to be an interesting hour spent in sickbay.

******

END CHAPTER 2

 


End file.
